Reassurances
by featherback
Summary: A short ficlet written for a tumblr user, concerning the aftermath of a job and one angel's attempts to reassure a hunter.


The night sky was overcast with a thick layering of swarthy clouds, blotting out any stars which might have risen somewhere behind them. Around the outer ridge of the lake he stood, gazing out across the gently oscillating waters. In the distance the wind was muttering, breezing mildly through the trees and brushing up against his skin like the touch of some once known lover now too afraid to do anything but loiter in the background. Despite the chilly temperature, it was all in all a remarkably pleasant night. He gave no notice to the atmosphere, however. He stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped forward, eyes surveying but not really seeing, a singular question vibrating subtly in his limbs and tainting the air around him: have I done the right thing? His thoughts consumed him. He wasn't particularly prone to pondering in such a manner - he preferred to ignore emotions entirely and repress them down into a tiny, hard ball he could shove away. But considering what had happened only a few hours ago, what he had just done, he couldn't avoid it.

He looked over his shoulder back at the run down cabin through the thick trees. Cas and Sammy were both there, doing who knew what. He didn't really care. All he could think about was the gun pressed snugly up against him, tucked into the back of his belt, and how many rounds it had fired today. He swallowed and shook his head roughly, like trying to dislodge it all.

Damn this town. Damn this whole state. He hadn't even wanted to come, but no, Sammy thought it'd be an interesting job, and then that feathery angel had jumped in, claiming something serious was up. Well, something had been up.

Dean bit the inside of his mouth. Not anymore. Why did it bother him this much?

Suddenly with a rustle of invisible wings Cas was beside him. Dean shot him a glance, not even bothered anymore by how he zapped out of nowhere. In the shadowy light he was barely perceptible, a tall, dark figure in an oversized coat with a questioning furrow on his brow.

He tilted his head slightly to the left, briefly breathing in.

"You stink," said the angel.

Dean turned towards him with one quirked eyebrow, "Wow. Thanks, Cas," he said irritably after a pause. "Any other derisive comments you'd like to add?"

Castiel shook his head. "No, I mean you stink of guilt. It's tainting the air around you."

Dean shifted and shoved his hands further into his pockets, shrugging his shoulders. "Shut up," he grumbled. He flicked his eyes away back out to the lake and pretended to occupy himself with something apparently interesting on the other side. Cas's statement hung in the air between them unanswered.

The angel cleared his throat. Dean had been standing out here for nearly an hour and a half. Sam and he had been watching from the ramshackle cabin they were squatting in. Sam said to just give him time - he'd either get over it or shove it all down and refuse to talk, so there was no point in trying to address him about it. But after a while Cas couldn't stand by idly any longer. A mixture of curiosity and unusual dismay drove him out. His human's discontent was obvious, and it pained him.

"You had to do it," he said in a softer tone. The words sounded odd in his gruff voice and yet were also strangely soothing. "They were not children anymore. They had become fully fledged."

Recollections assaulted him, the pattering of small sneakers against the concrete, snarling teeth, blood. "Yeah."

"There was no other option."

"I know."

"Th-"

"Cas, I said shut up."

A frown broke through his impassive expression, but he did as requested. A minute passed in which the two avoided eye contact. Dean shivered. He had come out without his jacket, clad only in a long sleeved tee, and the temperature was quickly dropping.

"Aren't you cold?" Cas asked, awkwardly breaking the silent streak. He experienced neither cold or heat and so was unaware of its effects, but humans seemed particularly susceptible to it.

Dean shook his head. "Nah. I'm fine," he lied. The shiver which trembled down his spine a moment later gave him away.

Cas hesitated, then with a series of quiet rustles pulled off his trench coat. "Here," he said, holding it with an awkwardly outstretched arm in Dean's direction.

Making a noise between a sigh and a half hearted chuckle, Dean waved him away. "No, seriously, I'm good," he said, unsuccessfully stifling a shiver.

Cas shook the coat. "Take it," he insisted.

"No."

"You're shivering."

"I'm not."

"I don't need it."

"What did I say about talking?"

Sighing irritably, the angel hesitated again, and then moved behind Dean and threw the coat around his shoulders. He smoothed out the collar with nimble fingertips, lingering for a fleeting second at the nape of his neck. Dean stiffened, puzzled, but as soon as the coat was in place Cas was back close beside him, eyeing him in a way that hinted of seeing much more than just physical characteristics.

"They weren't children anymore, Dean," he said, his voice soft but his bright blue gaze hard. "They were monsters. Do you think I enjoyed smiting them as well? If we hadn't the entire town would have been infected within a few days. It could have spread across the world as a pandemic."

"Their screams, Cas," he protested, looking down at the trench coat. He wanted to hand it back but it was so warm, scented like the angel's vessel. It was both an alien and homely smell. "Monsters don't scream like freakin'... terrified children. Not like that."

"They do when they are in the body of children." Castiel paused, searching for the correct thing to say, if there was one. He was no better at human sentiment than anyone else. The Winchesters and their general reluctance to express it could only teach him so much. The rest he had to observe and feel out for himself.

"Look," he continued on, "we had to. It was right in the end."

"You sound doubtful."

"So do you. I am a soldier, just as you are. We both know every fight isn't going to be... perfectly wrapped up in the end. There are always loose threads. Useless questions. What ifs, as you call them. But I possess a certainty that we did the correct thing. You did the right thing. I have faith in you."

"Yeah, well," Dean sighed, but something different had come over his face.

"Yes, well," Cas said, and his hand twitched as if longing to reach out and touch Dean's shoulder. Lately he always had this inclination, to place his fingers lightly on the reddened brand born of the human's rescue from perdition, and it unnerved and bemused him. He never acted on it. Tonight, as Dean said, what the hell?

Cas gripped the other man's shoulder, wondering if he too could feel the tingle that sparked up when his hand and the mark aligned. "Well," Cas said softly, "I do. I always come when you call. You think I wouldn't follow you anywhere?"

A long, long while of silence passed between them that bordered between comfortable and teeming with unsaid words. Both man and angel kept side by side, watching the lake. Castiel let his hand fall and their arms were left just barely brushing up against one another. Eventually when the moon began to peer from behind the clouds as the night wore on, Dean stirred.

"Thanks," was all he murmured. The smallest of smiles twitched on Cas's lips. Apparently he had said the right thing. Thanks wasn't much from an outsider's view. Coming from Dean, it was enough.

"Let's go back inside," he proposed, and Dean nodded. They turned and began walking up the slope to the cabin. Dean didn't offer the coat back, and Cas didn't ask for it. Somewhere along the way Dean bumped his elbow against the angel's ribs. It was another thank you, subtle and somehow not. 'Thanks for keeping faith in me', it hinted. Cas smiled again, rather sadly this time. If he had the courage, now would have been the moment to kiss him.

Behind his own crooked smirk, Dean wistfully thought the same.


End file.
